


alexithymia and adjacent psychobabble

by lancefox



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Boys Kissing, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Eating Disorders, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Rated T for language, Self-Worth Issues, angst is minimal imho, i just finished act 2 but that doesnt stop me from eagerly consuming spoilers like an unhinged hog, its very very implicit, less implicit but still not like described at all, pets for the karkitty, strider rambling, yeah i like projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lancefox/pseuds/lancefox
Summary: There's a lot of emotional effort that goes into a relationship like this.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	alexithymia and adjacent psychobabble

**Author's Note:**

> heyo! this is the first time i've shared my fic on such a public scale. i wrote this one over two consecutive (very late) nights as a sort of vent. hope u enjoy! ^^

You've been doing that thing again.

You do a lot of things, like drink apple juice, flirt with Karkat annoyingly often, pretend to hate your sister's psychobabble, and stay up until morning just to sleep all day. But those are pretty standard. Actually, this particular thing isn't unusual by any means either, its just been worse recently. Rose had given it several different names. Alexithymia, derealization, depersonalization, separation anxiety, autophobia, all of which you'd never let her know you recalled. Whatever it was, it sucked some grade-A ass. Like, we're talking the highest order of ass out there. Kim Kardashian has nothing on this hypothetical ass which everything sucks so hard.

Anyways, the present issue was a movie night with Karkat wherein you just could not bring yourself to really care about anything. Well, it was more complicated than that. You cared, but only because you knew you had before, and you guessed you were supposed to. You're not sure those emotion chemicals were actually running like they were supposed to. Rose would certainly attribute that to a certain dude wearing a hat who you didn't think about anymore.

Shit, until now, you guess, because now you're sitting wherever you are— you forgot— having a neat little trip down memory lane. Let's stop that train of thought before it leaves the station. Actually, just crash it. Some other train crash into that train and definitely cause a disaster worth of regional news, get the tracks shut down for a little while. Veronica on channel nine would report on this one, give updates to people who don't use the train (because it isn't a passenger train), and just— hmm. Maybe you hit that first train a _little_ too hard with this one.

You know what else hit you a little too hard? Karkat's elbow in your shoulder. How the fuck did he pack a punch like that? He was generally bigger than you, sure, probably because he actually ate— nope, stop thinking about that— Jesus Christ, okay, he was just strong. And you should probably answer him right about now.

"Dave! For fucks sake, did that last braincell of yours finally die off, or did you suddenly realize how good this movie is?"

You look up to him— Karkat— as attentively as you can manage. He's staring into your eyes. You want your shades, for the first time in a while.

"There's plenty of brainpower up here," you say, tapping the side of your head. It kind of makes your skull feel like juice. "I'm just so absolutely entranced by the acting talents of," fuck, you forgot, "this guy that its got the music brain going. So hard to rip your eyes off an inspiration, y'know, Karkles? Figure you would, you're a creative too, you know what it's like to have a muse. Although I'm sure none have matched charms with _the_ Dave Strider," and you think you're done! Good ramble, Dave, you successfully forgot what the original question was. That's how you know it was a good one.

Karkat's staring at you. "What the fuck kind of hoofbeastshit just came out of your mouth."

You continue to go on autopilot, because it's never failed you before. "The avoidant kind," you shrug. Oh, okay, autopilot has now failed you. Sick.

Karkat's face softens. Shit, dammit, no, you know he worries. Stop, you made him worry. Fucking idiot. "Oh... do you wanna talk about what you're avoiding?" Karkat asks, and it's really anxious. Hesitant. You don't know if he actually has the mental capacity to take your bullshit on right now, and you don't want to hurt him. Why is living with people so hard? Oh, God, moments like these you remember why you almost— okay, nevermind.

"Uh, I don't know. Well, I guess I should. I should know what- if I want to talk about it or not. The question though, really, is if you want me to talk about it. Because I know you worry more not knowing, but, if it's too much weight, you don't have to take it. Like, you have enough already. Not physically, there's nothing wrong with— I gotta shut up. Um, no?"

Take a shot of apple juice every time Karkat looks confused today. "I can listen, Dave," he says. It feels like a promise. It's warm in your chest, and it's the first thing you've genuinely felt this week.

"You can't help, though. I don't think. Well, not fully. I just– are you okay with that?" All this stuttering feels very very dangerous, right now. You've been trying to give up on acting all cool for Karkat, because he doesn't care. But, today is not really working out.

"It bothers me more not to know," he says.

"I didn't ask if you wanted to know, though, I asked if you were okay with the fact that it... it isn't something either of us have full control over."

Karkat looks straight into your eyes. Then he looks at the rest of you. Back to your eyes. Maybe your tracking his movements is a little weird, but he's doing it too.

"No, I'm not. If I'm not helping you then I'm fucking useless," Karkat says, and he says it like you should've learned this in fucking kindergarten. He says it like it's a thing he's stating just to make sure you're on the same page but realistically he already knows you are, because this is like, the first page. He says he's useless like he'd say a house has a door.

When you don't say anything for a while, because you honestly weren't ready for that, he sighs. "Sorry, I fucking rui—"

"No you didn't," you correct him.

"I made it about me agai—"

"I don't care."

He stares at you. "You're healing, dude," you say, shrugging like this is obvious. It is obvious, actually. A house has a door. "We both are, so. I don't know. I think I should give you the benefit of the doubt considering all the bullshit you're recovering from." You feel anxiety settling in your chest and stomach now, making its cruel web. You don't really want to talk anymore. This always fucking happens, and Karkat's head will tell him you're mad. You're not.

"Ok," Karkat says, and it's resigned. He's shutting out again, the words aren't getting through. You die inside a little.

Instead of letting that internal death spread to the outside like some kinda freaky parasite from one of June's less than acceptable movies, you look at how Karkat is sitting. Criss-crossed legs, hands resting atop his shins. You like his legs. And all of him, you remind yourself, because you feel some sort of weird guilt at giving different parts of him unbalanced attention. You look at his face out of the tops of your eyes and make grabby hands at him, a squeezing motion on the air.

"What? What are you doing, Dave, you don't have to empathize."

You totally do not understand how to not empathize. So, you swivel yourself around, plop your head right in Karkat's lap, and hope that's fine. He's not arguing with you, so that's a good sign.

Once you're there, you reach up for his head. He looks a little confused, but leans down some. You put your hands in his hair, right at the base of his cute little horns, and pet him. He starts purring almost immediately, and you smile softly. Hehehehe, Karkitty.

Maybe he doesn't understand why you're doing this. He probably has some kind of assumption about quadrants or pity, but you've never quite understood how that aligns with all of your actions towards him. You just love him however your brain, maybe your heart or something, decides. It's all you can do sometimes. You're not just trying to shut him up, not at all. You've simply always communicated your affection better through touch than words. Oh, these nonverbal tendencies didn't help that either.

So you pet your love into his scalp, occasionally kiss it into his face, and constantly stare it into his eyes. Again, you're wanting your shades, but you can't cut yourself off from Karkat so totally. You just shouldn't.

Karkat tilts his head up after a while, jostling your arms a little bit. He's crying. Shit, shit, what'd you do? You're not sure how to deal with that, that's a lot. Fuck. You try to breathe, try to focus on what you do know of the situation until Karkat speaks.

"I love you," he says, and he sounds extremely fucking tired. You briefly remember that he has a sleep disorder.

You're not really keen on talking right now, but you do it for Karkat anyway. Or, you try to. You open and close your mouth a few times before you start tearing up over trying to talk.

"It's okay," he mumbles, shifting one of your hands to kiss it. You want to kiss him properly, so you slide off of his lap to motion for him to lay down on the floor with you. Once he's down there, you attach to him like a giant koala. You wonder what Alternians would call koalas, and you almost laugh about it. You'll ask later.

You gently move Karkat's head to face you, and watch for a moment as his pretty red tears fall down his face. Nothing can make him any less than gorgeous, and you're not sure how exactly he disagrees.

You fit your lips on his, trying to kiss all that love you have into his body. The best you could do otherwise is tell him he's pink, and you're worried that would make no sense. So, you kiss him, with one hand in his hair, and one resting on his chest.

Your name is Dave Strider-Vantas, and you love Karkat Vantas so fucking much.


End file.
